


Misc Oneshots

by FearOrRegret



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 05:37:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17115425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FearOrRegret/pseuds/FearOrRegret
Summary: Some odds and ends from my tumblr.





	Misc Oneshots

**“I’m a grown adult. I don’t want to take a picture with Santa Claus." McHanzo**

The local mall was dead despite Christmas being only two days away. Small towns meant no last minute shoppers. Cashiers and overworked salespersons paced at their posts wondering how early they could close without catching hell for it.

Hanzo sat at the edge of the food court, shopping bags stacked on the table beside him, and watched the few patrons shuffle from shop to shop. Like him, no one in this mall was eager to be noticed or, god forbid, recognized. Beside him McCree was taking inventory of the day’s purchases to ensure that all of their holiday shopping was finally done.

“Not much of a mall,” McCree said of the empty shopping center. “There’s not even an arcade.”

“If you’re bored, you could visit Santa Clause,” Hanzo told him and gestured at the sad photo kiosk across from them. He stated it so plainly it almost didn’t register as a joke.

“I’m a grown adult. I don’t want to take a picture with Santa Claus.“

"I’ll hold your hand if you’re scared.” This time a hint of a smile gave him away.

“Sounds a lot like you want to.”

“I would rather not.”

“You can sit on my lap and tell me what you want for Christmas,” McCree said with a satisfied grin.

Hanzo chuckled, restrained in showing his amusement, and said, “What more could I want than you?”

* * *

 

**Holiday word-vomit Gabriel Reyes x OC**

It’s Thanksgiving and all the American bases are closing down for a week. All month people are making plans, sharing stories about their family traditions and the loved ones they miss. Spirits are high in anticipation of the holiday.

But, Gabriel notices, McCree and Genji have no place to go for the nine days that the Watchpoint will be empty, and he worries. Neither has a home they can revisit or family to call. Will they be lonely? Bored? Depressed? Or will they be content despite knowing that everyone else they know will be warm, well-loved, and well-fed?

He frets, unable to focus on his own holiday plans. They were his responsibility, after all, his team. He couldn’t rest easy knowing they’d been left to idle in an empty base until Overwatch needed them again. They were men, for Christ’s sake, not tools.

More boys than men, really, still full of youthful energy and a penchant for troublemaking that made him at once nostalgic and crazy. Boys that had to carry the burdens of men well before they were ready. So he let them have their fun where he could, to compensate for the childhood they’d been robbed of. Which is why he couldn’t justify leaving them alone over the holidays.

“Why don’t you bring them here?” Regina suggests over dinner one night. “We’ve got plenty of space, and I’d like to meet them.”

She states it plainly, as if it were simply a tradition he’d forgotten. It wasn’t a terrible idea. Their home is big enough, as she mentioned, to accommodate two more for a while, and they hadn’t planned on visiting anyone this year. But could he allow his job to overlap with his home life like that? That was too close, too personal, and he tells her as much.

“I can’t get my personal life and my work mixed up,” he explains.

“You already have. The fact that you care this much makes it personal,” she answers, a gentle correction without condescension. “But I won’t tell anyone you have feelings if you want them to think you’re tough.”

She’s right. She’s always right. She sees through people with a superhuman empathy that’s leaves no option but emotional honesty. She makes him so damned vulnerable. He loves her. He agrees finally to her proposition: have the boys over for Thanksgiving.

“You ever get tired of being right?” he jokes.

She responds with a satisfied smile, “No, never.” 

* * *

 **can you write something about Hanzo and McCree both falling for the same girl, and trying to win her heart over but ending up in a polyamorous relationship? So basically mchanzo x reader**.

At first you didn’t even notice that either of them had feelings for you because they each have weird ways of showing it. McCree had been going out of his way to do favors for you, and Hanzo had nearly exhausted himself with trying to protect you on missions (not that you needed it). You just assumed that they both really liked being your friend.

After a while you start to notice their behavior around you changing even more. Individually they’re each more withdrawn, as if they want to say something but aren’t sure if they should, and when they’re both present they’re almost childishly competitive with each other.

And then one day the competition stopped. They had, apparently, settled whatever dispute they were having, and you couldn’t help but feel that it had to do with you.

Your suspicions are confirmed when they catch you alone after training one day and all you out. You think about it for only a minute before accepting.

And that’s how you ended up with two boyfriends.

* * *

 

**can i request reader joining the Meka squad and quickly becoming best friends with Dva? Then on her first mission, everything goes bad for reader and Dva is is super worried for her!**

The MEKA base swarmed with mechanics and medics like an ant bed that an invasive toddler had kicked the top off of. Every pilot, as well as the wreckage of their MEKA, had been accounted for except for you. Hana forced her way past the panicked crowd with determination, a medical team tight on her heels, until she made it to where you should have landed after the fight. You were the newest recruit, her friend, and her responsibility.

“Hana, you need to sit down, please,” the medic pleaded for the hundreth time.

They said she had a concussion from her own rough return, but she couldn’t just kick back and focus on herself. Not when you were missing.

“We found her!"a call went out over the thunder of overlapping voices.

Hana watched in sickening anticipation as a team of mechanics dragged in your MEKA piece by charred piece. If that had barely survived, then what could have happened to you? Finally came the stretcher. The medics carrying you split the crowd like a knife as they marched toward the infirmary. As you passed you raised a hand weakly in a half salute.

"I’m okay,” you croaked, your voice hoarse from inhaling smoke.

She could finally relax knowing that you’d lived. Suddenly her legs were weak and every muscle in her body was beginning to ache. On top of that her head was starting to hurt, and all the lights and sounds were making her nauseous. The medical team that had been begging her to rest breathed a collective sigh of relief as she sank into the nearest chair to let them do their job.

* * *

 

  **Did you seriously injure yourself carving a pumpkin? Junkrat x reader**

You were sitting back in the patchy grass admiring the artful filigree you’d carved around the pumpkin you’d picked out when you heard the sharp intake of breathe followed by the colorful swearing that you were accustomed to hearing from Junkrat. You turned your attention from the decorative gourd in your lap to where he sat watching the blood that dripped from his closed fist soak into the ruddy dirt in front of him.

“Did you seriously injure yourself carving a pumpkin?” you asked, easing closer to inspect the damage.

He’d spent a painstaking amount of time cleaning out the inside of his pumpkin which left his hands slippery and, you assumed, cause the the knife to slip when he finally began carving. The man was an accident waiting to happen. You’d patched him up more times than you could count, but at least this time there were no burns to treat.

You took his hand and coaxed it open to see the wound in his palm. Despite the amount of blood it was shallow enough that you could bandage it without needing stitches.

“Hand’s not so steady these days,” he told you, referring to the patchwork prosthetic he wore. “Have to make a new one soon.”

You grimaced inwardly at the prospect of another trip to the scrapyard to pick through omnic remains for salvageable parts. So you took the opportunity to direct his attention back to the injury that needed tending.

“Let’s go get this cleaned off before we have to chop off your other hand, too,” you said and stood to help him up.


End file.
